I wrote this sometime in the 1980s. My proof is the drawing by my mother. We had it in a show and hand colored with colored pencils. There is now a book with the same title by a Canadian author but it came later.
And hooray for the zoo! They are all asking for you!
Martha, what would the AI think of this poem? Heh. ChatGPT: “That’s a fantastic poem! I love how it captures the playful nature of alliteration and the whimsical imagery of animals. Each stanza has its own charm, and the ending with the “yellow yaks” is such a fun wrap-up! Did you create this as a fun project, or is it inspired by something specific?” Ok, so ChatGPT doesn’t get sonnets, but it likes nonsense poetry.
A friend and I travel to Hawaii in March 2018. The lava in the caldera had dropped on the volcano and the road around it was closed because of the gases. The changing eruption happened over the next few months. We found a place to wait for nightfall to take photographs. It is way more dramatic in the night, isn’t it? We could see fire rising up in the day too, but at night the smoke is lit up as well by the lava below. A scene on fire, beautiful and terrifying.
The smoke from forest fires has dissipated in Grand Junction. I stayed mostly inside for a few days, which is not hard on work days. The clothes I wear are backwards from the ones I wear on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington. There I have a windbreaker and layers for outside and I think my heat pump has had the air conditioning on once ever. Here I need the warmer clothes for the air conditioned inside. I get cold at work by lunch time and go outside to warm up! Very strange.
So far I have gotten positive Covid tests on one patient a week, all with really different symptoms.
One older person who was short of breath walking, tired, coughing and loose at the other end.
One young one whose only symptom was profuse throwing up.
One with a sore throat, nasal congestion, cough and feeling fairly awful and about to go on a trip, darn it.
There isn’t a nice pattern to tell me what the local strain is doing. It can do any darn old thing. I have also seen someone with strep throat and another couple who had similar symptoms to the others but did not have Covid. It’s morphing like an AI, I swear. I am masking in clinic but so far so good.
The Ragtag Daily Prompt is essential. I think it’s pretty essential for me to wear a mask in clinic, in crowds and on airplanes, since I am quite tired of pneumonias.
I have been the only “provider”, that is, doctor, in the clinic for the last two days. The medical assistants and front desk and I are starting to work as a team. I ask the front desk person how to communicate with her from the clinic room most efficiently. Something was weird about the refill system and it kept refusing refills. On Tuesday I had over 100 “documents” in the computer “box”. Lab work, specialist reports, refill requests, x-ray reports, nursing home things, surgery reports, wound clinic, emergency room, and so forth. I am trying to skim them, but I can’t say that I will remember person A’s dermatology report after skimming 60 others. If you go to your primary care provider and have had some major medical thing recently, remind them. They may have gotten and read the note, but gosh, it’s hard to remember at 100+ per day. Right now I have not met most of the people, so it is even harder.
The photograph is just for fun, taken a few weeks ago on the trail that runs by the Colorado River. Lovely!
And I had forgotten AA Milne’s version called Cherry stones:
Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief,
Or what about a cowboy, policeman, jailer, engine driver, or a pirate chief?
Or what about a ploughman or a keeper at the zoo,
Or what about a circus man who lets the people through?
Or the man who takes the pennies on the roundabouts and swings,
Or the man who plays the organ or the other man who sings?
Or what about the rabbit man with rabbits in his pockets
And what about a rocket man who’s always making rockets?
Oh it’s such a lot of things there are and such a lot to be
That there’s always lots of cherries on my little cherry tree.
Now I’m going to have to play with a version with some current jobs:
What about a tweeter, a twerker, a medical AI? Influencer, programmer, cooker of meth highs?
What is older? Anything and anyone older than me? At one point I have 5 women who are over 100 years old as patients. Two are 104. One is local indigenous tribe and tells me about white women moving to another pew if she sat down near them in church, back when she is in her twenties. I am apologetic at that visit because it is hospital week. Our pacific northwest hospital has chosen cowboys as the theme so being a bit oppositional defiant, I have braids with one feather hanging down. I swear that EVERY ONE of my indigenous patients comes in, including the 104 year old. I apologize, but they mostly seem amused by my rebellion.
They also influence me. Now when a 72 year old complains about being OLD, I say, “You are not old in my practice.” They look confused. I say, “I’ve had five people over 100 all at once, so you don’t get to complain about being old until you are 90.” People laugh, but they also usually look pleased. Over 100 is a LOT older than 72. When someone is over 100, I don’t really doctor them much. I might say, “This is what the book says we should do.” “I’m not doing that,” says my 101 year old. “Ok, cool.” I say. It’s hard to argue with.
And the joke about the centurian? What do you like best about turning 100? “No peer pressure.” Um, yes. I want them to tell ME what they’ve done to reach 100. The one thing that they all have in common is that they are all stubborn. I don’t know if stubbornness is what gets them there or if we just get more stubborn as we get older. Both, perhaps.
By stubborn, I don’t mean that they don’t learn and do new things. I had a woman in her upper 70s who I diagnosed with diabetes. At the next visit she said cheerfully, “I found these five apps for my phone. This one tells me the carbohydrates, this keeps track of the distance I walk, this one tracks my blood sugar.” I don’t remember what the other two did. This was a decade ago. She was retired from Microsoft. I wanted her to teach a class for me and all of my other diabetic patients.
My grandmother took classes in her 80s in lip-reading. She was going quite deaf and her hearing aides were not terribly helpful. She had videotapes and a rather shy teacher who would come to the house. She would glare at him and the videotapes. She attacked learning it like a piranha and was furious that she couldn’t learn it faster. I am like that too and my son learned some patience from the violin. He couldn’t play well immediately and found that practice works.
At what age is someone old? I think that’s moving target and the older we get, the older we think it is. I do think 104 is a lot older than 72. When does your culture think that people are old? My fierce grandmother said that she would look out her window. “I see little old ladies across the street and think, oh, poor things, they are so old. But then I think, OH, I am older then they are!” She died at age 93, fierce until the end and curious about death too. Her last words to my father were, “Look, Mac, I’m dying.” He said, “I’m looking,” and she stopped breathing. She was always curious and funny and could tease quite terribly and she and my mother butted heads and loved each other. She loved my father too, and me.
The photograph is my maternal grandmother, Katherine White Burling and it’s one I took.
Mother says we are at a Comfort Inn, but I don’t think so. I am NOT comfortable! Mother packed things for days and took them out to a car. Not the usual one! We don’t like it when she leaves, but this time she kept taking OUR things out. Our privy! Toys! The playtube! Our crate! We wondered if she was giving them to Other Cats, horrors. But then she put our harnesses on and put us in the carrier and in the new weird smelling car. The car went with us trapped inside! And it went and went and went.
We objected. Mother had a net between the front and back, but we both outwitted that easily. Sol Duc went under the seats. I sat on Mother’s lap. She stopped and explained that this was not safe. I knew that! Cars aren’t safe! She put us back in the carrier and moved things around and then we rode in our crate. We had food and water and our privy. We could see Mother and the horrible terrible trucks around us. We complained some but at least we were in the crate. We slept sometimes.
At last Mother stopped and put us in the carrier again. It smells very strange outside and we are NOT at home. She took us in to the Comfort Place. I refused to leave the carrier. She took the top off, but I can hide under the top.
We really do not know what will happen today. Mother can be very crafty. We outwit nets, but the car is more difficult. We do want to stay with Mother.
Last night we used the harnesses to make new art. We are crafty too.
Mother is cutting our food again. Sol Duc and I would rather eat through the day whenever we feel like it AND out of each other’s bowls. She picks up my bowl sometimes! Then the other bowl is empty and there is NOTHING!
As you can see, I continue to offer my favorite things in exchange for food. Mother took platy, but she just rinsed her in the sink. I got her back when she dried. Sometimes if I drop toys in the puddle, the little ants come. They do not taste good. They are not good food. Sol Duc and I persist, though.
I may put the finger box back on the small noisy sky thing setting. Since Mother won’t give us more food. She did get a new water thing. I am not sure about it. I would rather have food.
The first camera I had was a hand me down from my grandfather. I don’t have it any more. The viewfinder would open and you looked down into it to frame the photograph. The pictures were square. It became difficult to find film for it quite quickly and small cheap 110 cameras were becoming plentiful.
I had a 110 cheap camera and did not like it much. My parents got a Minolta 110 in the mid 1970s with a built in zoom. I was hooked! It was much more fun to be able to frame my shot and I took many of the family photographs. That hooked my father in turn and I inherited electronic cameras with built in zooms from him: a Panasonic, a Canon and a Nikon. I think he was trying to find one with an image steadier that could stand up to him, but he had a bad resting tremor. He moved to a tripod and that worked much better.
I took the photograph at my son and daughter-in-law’s wedding in 2022. K is in his teens and we were both playing with cameras. This was the day before the wedding at a brewpub and before the rehearsal. I love that the photograph is off center and the circle behind him mimics the camera lens. I have permission to post!
The Seattle Art Museum has a tree in the lobby, hanging. It’s a copy of a tree. It hangs from the ceiling and walls. It is beautiful. It is extravagant.
I write every day, both in my journal and here and other places. Ok, the other places are not every day.
I love colored ink. My mother did too. My sister and I were raised “devout atheist”. We did not go to church and my parents claimed to be atheist, but my mother loved holidays and decorated. Christmas, Easter, and we did the elaborate eggs with layers of color then wax then a second color then more wax. My parents also held music parties for folk songs. They sang in big choruses too, so my bible education was all masses and the Messiah. My mother set up a creche at Christmas and hung gilded pears in her avocado tree along with a partridge. She scorned “modern” Christmas carols so we just learned the old traditional ones.
My mother was an artist. She did art every single day. She kept a much more erratic journal than me, but kept it for years. My sister and I had art supplies of all sorts and art lessons whether we wanted or not. I love color. I use my InkJoy pens and write every day. I switch colors each day. Sometimes I have stickers or stamps or drawings or doodles. Each journal is a different form. I have lots of fun with them.
Discover and re-discover Mexico’s cuisine, culture and history through the recipes, backyard stories and other interesting findings of an expatriate in Canada
Engaging in some lyrical athletics whilst painting pictures with words and pounding the pavement. I run; blog; write poetry; chase after my kids & drink coffee.
Refugees welcome - Flüchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflüchtete Menschen in der deutschen Sprache. I am writing this blog in English and German because my friends speak English and German. Ich schreibe auf Deutsch und Englisch, weil meine Freunde Deutsch und Englisch sprechen.
KO Rural Mad As Hell Blog 
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